


julian

by vachement



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Talks About Feelings, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Secret Identity, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sort Of, but grudgingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24174073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachement/pseuds/vachement
Summary: “Ah, Yennefer of Vengerburg, just who I wanted to see today. Care to sit?” Jaskier smiled, saccharine sweet. "I'm sure you'd like to take some weight off your cloven hooves.”“Calling me the devil?” Yennefer scoffed, but she moved to sit next to Jaskier. “How original, bard.”Jaskier looked an odd mix between delighted and affronted. “Actually,” he said primly. “I was calling you a goat, you goat.”“Make it clearer next time then, Julian,” Yennfer sighed in obviously feigned disappointment. “Your insults are useless if I’m not sure why I’m supposed to feel insulted.”Geralt couldn’t focus on Jaskier’s response, because he was confused on who Yennefer thought she was speaking to. Maybe she’d finally gone as crazy as Jaskier claimed she was. “Who the fuck is Julian?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 30
Kudos: 1569





	julian

**Author's Note:**

> the quote in the summary is from b99, i love raymond holt with all my heart
> 
> enjoy :))
> 
> EDIT: thanks to the wonderful darya, there is now a russian translation! here's the link: https://ficbook.net/readfic/9438170

Ale, Geralt decided, was the best thing to have after a vicious fight against the monster of the week. Well, ale and Jaskier by his side, yammering on about everything and nothing and managing to be just the right side of endearing.

“ _Big claws_ isn’t a good enough description,” the bard was complaining. “Give me _details_ , Geralt. Did it reek of death? Were its eyes bottomless voids? The claws, did they gleam with blood and moonlight?”

“Big claws,” Geralt repeated, just to hear Jaskier’s indignant squawk. “And now it’s dead.”

Jaskier leveled him with an unimpressed stare. “One of these days,” he shook his finger menacingly. “I’m gonna find some other monster fighter to follow around, one who gives me actual details. And then where will you be?”

Geralt considered a snarky response. He and Jaskier had fallen back into their pre-mountain rapport and then some, and it was practically expected for his wit to be his usual combination of dry and mean. He could’ve said something cutting about peace and quiet, but memories of Jaskier’s face from after that terrible day still filled him with guilt, even after the bard had assured him that he was forgiven. 

Geralt never wanted his bard to look like that again, especially not because of him. So he took a long sip of his ale and twisted his lips in a small smile. 

“It had glowing red eyes,” he offered. Jaskier’s grin lit up the dingy tavern. “And a hide like leather.”

Jaskier began jotting down notes. “That, I can work with,” he was already humming a melody under his breath. Geralt knew, now, that the tight feeling in his chest was affection, _love_ , for this ridiculous man. He didn’t voice it; he _also_ knew that Jaskier was well aware of it already.

Before he could think of more details about the monster he’d fought (and it was hard to scrounge them up, seeing as he’d been more focused on not getting eaten than noting the way the light had reflected off of its teeth, or whatever Jaskier was going on about), the tavern fell silent. 

The faint smell of lilac and gooseberries wafted in, and Geralt knew who had arrived before he heard her speak.

“What, never seen a sorceress before?” Yennefer snapped at the patrons. “Stop staring before I start taking eyes for my collection.”

Geralt had never seen a tavern full of people look away so fast. Ignoring Jaskier’s muttered protests, he waved the sorceress over to their table. After glaring at him for a solid ten seconds, she approached.

Geralt (surprisingly, at Jaskier’s urging) had mostly patched up his relationship with Yennefer after the mountain, but he knew they’d never be what they were. It was his fault for binding her with that idiotic djinn wish, he knew, and he didn’t blame her one bit for wanting her space from him. It was still rocky between them, but Geralt considered her a friend, and he hoped she thought him the same. It was hard to tell with her.

“Geralt,” greeted Yennefer, her usual haughty tone in place. “Geralt’s bard.”

“Ah, Yennefer of Vengerburg, just who I wanted to see today. Care to sit?” Jaskier smiled, saccharine sweet. Oddly enough, there was _affection_ in it, which was unusual in itself, especially directed at _Yennefer_ , of all people. He’d thought they didn’t like each other. “I'm sure you'd like to take some weight off your cloven hooves.”

And there it was, the insult that Geralt had been expecting. He tensed, waiting for Yennefer’s retaliation. Surprisingly, her eyes were _soft_ where they fell on the bard. Geralt wasn’t sure when they’d declared a truce from their old distaste, but it left him feeling off-kilter, something that the pair clearly noticed.

“Calling me the devil?” Yennefer scoffed, but she moved to sit next to Jaskier. Apparently, she wanted conversation before launching into what she needed, and with _Jaskier_ , of all people. Geralt didn’t understand. “How original, bard.”

Jaskier looked an odd mix between delighted and affronted. “Actually,” he said primly. “I was calling you a goat, you _goat_.”

“Make it clearer next time then, Julian,” Yennfer sighed in obviously feigned disappointment. “Your insults are useless if I’m not sure why I’m supposed to feel insulted.”

Geralt couldn’t focus on Jaskier’s response, because he was confused on who Yennefer thought she was speaking to. Maybe she’d finally gone as crazy as Jaskier claimed she was. 

“Who the fuck is Julian?” asked Geralt, not following. Nicknames were one thing (and he didn’t want to think about Jaskier and Yennefer being good enough friends to have _nicknames_ for one another, because that was a terrifying thought), but how did one get Julian out of Jaskier? It didn’t make sense. 

Jaskier stuttered in his sniping with Yen. The smile he pasted on was hollow, clearly fake, but it had the air of something that was supposed to be charming. On a stranger, it might’ve worked. Unfortunately for him, Geralt knew him too well. 

“That would be me,” Jaskier said, dipping into a jaunty little bow. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, at your service.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows in shock. He’d known that Jaskier had a past, but he never would’ve guessed that the man was a _noble_. Lettenhove wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t exactly some backwater province of no import. Jaskier being a viscount explained a lot of things about the man, that was for sure. 

Yennefer looked vaguely apologetic. “You didn’t know?” she asked, somewhat redundantly. There was a hint of guilt in her scent, so at odds with the usual confident lilac and gooseberry, as her eyes flickered to Jaskier.

“Contrary to what you may think,” Jaskier-- _Julian_ , apparently-- cut in airily. He didn’t look angry, exactly, more resigned. A little scared, too, and Geralt was so unused to Jaskier being scared of anything that it took him a moment to place the rotting fruit smell of fear coming off of his bard. “I can be a man of mystery if I want to be. I don’t blurt out _all_ my secrets.”

“No,” Yennefer agreed, latching on to the opening for what it was: an olive branch. “Only most of them. Really, do you know the meaning of discretion?”

“I’ve never heard that word in my life,” Jaskier intoned seriously. “I’m woefully uneducated; it’s one of my few failings.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. Geralt did, too, but he was more subtle about it. “That, we can both agree on.”

Jaskier, unafraid of contradicting himself, apparently, visibly puffed up to defend Oxenfurt, but Geralt lost track of his sniping. He was still focused on the reveal from minutes ago. _Julian Alfred Pankratz_ . Credit where credit was due, Geralt would never have figured it out on his own. Jaskier had a way with words, in that he said anything and everything, but somehow managed to say nothing at all on certain topics. Sure, the bard could run his mouth all day about royalty and monsters and wine and a hundred other useless topics, and Geralt didn’t even want to _start_ on the complaining, but he’d never really realized how deft Jaskier was at changing the subject when he didn’t want to talk about something. It was often so well done that Geralt didn’t notice his questions going unanswered until Jaskier was snoring in his bedroll. 

Much, much later, curled around Jaskier in the small bed in their room at the inn, Geralt still couldn’t forget the look on Jaskier’s face when Yennefer had inadvertently revealed his identity. There had been something almost trapped in his eyes and Geralt never wanted to see it again. He’d hoped avoiding the topic altogether would solve the issue, but Jaskier was still tense in his arms, clearly waiting for Geralt to yell, or shout, or just _react_ in some way. Geralt knew that Jaskier sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up first for fear of the reaction. There was still a hint of rotten fruit in his scent. That, more than anything, had Geralt talking. He hated smelling fear on his bard.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked quietly, face buried in Jaskier’s hair. He wasn’t judgemental; he had his secrets, too, and no matter how much he loved Jaskier, keeping them was as much a part of him now as anything else. He didn’t know how to tell them without disturbing old scars. Maybe he’d figure it out, someday, but today wasn’t the day, and he knew that Jaskier didn’t begrudge him his silence one bit. 

The bard immediately knew what he meant. His body went rigid for a second, then relaxed. It took a long minute for him to reply. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Why not?” Geralt hummed. There was no anger in his voice, just simple curiosity. It didn’t matter to him, at the end of the day, if Jaskier was some noble with a stuffy name. It mattered that he felt like he had to hide that from Geralt, like _that_ would be the thing that drove him away. Geralt had fought off enough cuckolded lords and ladies, had saved Jaskier’s ass enough times from monsters the idiot bard had gotten too close to, had done any great number of unpleasant things for Jaskier; if he’d wanted to leave, spare himself the trouble, he’d have done so a decade ago. Jaskier was as much stuck with Geralt as Geralt was with Jaskier, and the Witcher wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve spent most of my life running from Lettenhove,” he answered. “I don’t even like thinking about the place. You, you never knew me as anything but Jaskier the traveling bard. Jaskier of nowhere. And I _liked_ that. I liked that you only knew _me_ , not who I pretended I was before. Because I’m not Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I’m just… _me_.”

For all that Jaskier liked to lie and obfuscate and exaggerate, Geralt sensed nothing but honesty in his tone. It was rare that his bard would give anyone the plain, unvarnished truth, and Geralt appreciated it more than he could put into words. Maybe that was just him being bad at words. 

He pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s forehead to thank him for his candor and to show that he wasn’t going to push for more than Jaskier was willing to tell him. There were clearly parts of the story that were missing, such as why Jaskier had left Lettenhove in the first place, but they weren’t important in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was that Jaskier was here with him now. As much as he wanted to close his eyes and sleep, Jaskier safely held in his arms, Geralt had one last question for the man.

“Yen calls you Julian,” he rumbled and brushed a hand through Jaskier’s hair. “Would you like me to?”

Jaskier hummed noncommittally. “Yen calls me that to rile me up. It doesn’t work, but don’t tell her that,” he replied. “It’s not… I _like_ being Jaskier, don’t get me wrong. And I don’t miss being Julian the viscount. Besides, I’m not really him anymore, am I?”

Tentatively, Geralt tilted Jaskier’s face towards his own. “You can be whoever you want,” he said quietly, no less firm for it. He wasn’t good at words, so he hoped that his gaze conveyed what he was really saying: _you can be whoever you want, and I’ll love you for it all the same_. 

Jaskier’s blush was, in a word, adorable. Geralt hated him a little bit for it; grown men were not supposed to be adorable. But Jaskier was contrary by nature. Also, “grown” was a strong word to describe him, really, so Geralt could let this one slide.

“I guess you can call me just Julian,” Jaskier whispered, like it was a secret. “Sometimes. If you want to.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed easily. He pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s lips, tasting the other man’s relief. His earlier anxiety had faded, leaving behind nothing but the sweet scent of _Jaskier_. Geralt couldn’t get enough of it. He pulled back regretfully when Jaskier yawned into the kiss, though. “Go to sleep. You’re tired.”

“Not tired,” Jaskier protested ineffectually, pawing at Geralt’s chest as his eyes drooped. “Okay, maybe I’m a little tired. Goodnight, Geralt.”

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s forehead one last time and closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Julian.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me smile :))


End file.
